


A weighted trade

by Splatx



Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [11]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Hamish is a little bit crazy lbr, Shapeshifters are known but not Known, Shapeshifting, Slice of Life, The Tyrant, in which Hamish sees nothing weird in that a lynx understands him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: Hamish always started his day the same way.He’d make his coffee and cook his eggs. Step outside and have his breakfast while he watched Bharati try to hunt the Tyrant. Give Buell his breakfast and a groom down once Bharati called it quits, and then go about the rest of his day.And then he walked outside just in time to watch the Tyrant, the uncatchable Tyrant, be swiped up onto the shore by one of the littlest lynxes he'd ever seen.
Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876702
Kudos: 5





	A weighted trade

Hamish always started his day the same way.

He’d make his coffee and cook his eggs. Step outside and have his breakfast while he watched Bharati try to hunt the Tyrant. Give Buell his breakfast and a groom down once Bharati called it quits, and then go about the rest of his day.

  
  


And then he walked outside just in time to watch the Tyrant, _the uncatchable Tyrant,_ be swiped up onto the shore. Right in front of his cabin, practically at his feet. He was just in time to see the light gleam on its scales, to see water droplets glitter, before it dropped rather anticlimactically onto the ground. Even the lynx what had managed to smack it out of the water looked surprised, head bobbling to watch the thrashing pike.

Hamish couldn’t help it.

He started laughing hysterically. Honest, he couldn’t help it, she just looked so shocked, staring at the fish that was bigger than she was that she’d somehow managed to haul out of the lake. Goddamn, but he wasn’t even mad, it was too funny.

The lynx looked from the Tyrant, to him, back to the Tyrant, then back to him, in a way that managed to convey _‘what do I do now?’_

“Wait,” he finally managed, “please, wait,” though of course he knew he was talking to a wild animal - folk talked to dogs and horses like they could understand, so why couldn’t he talk to this lynx the same way? - and hurried back inside as fast as his morning-stiff leg would allow, Hamish wasn’t one for technology, for collecting the newest and best, was happy with the basics and just what he needed to survive, but the camera had been a gift and he would never turn down a gift.

  
  


The lynx was waiting, still with that _‘what do I do now?’_ expression on its face, and to his great glee he managed to get both the Tyrant and the wildcat’s face in the same photo, the lynx sitting next to the now-dead fish and staring wide-eyed into the camera.

She squinted as the bulb went off, shaking her head and sneezing but, to his surprise, didn’t bolt, though Buell screamed and reared, striking out into the air. Instead, he rather got the feeling that she was disapproving, the expression she gave him giving off a distinct sense of _‘why didn’t you warn me?’_

“Damn shame to see the old bastard eaten,” he muttered, looking at the Tyrant, and the lynx looked from him to the fish then back to him again - especially considering how much would be wasted, considering it was easily much larger than her. Could always shoot the little lynx and put them both up on his wall, but he didn’t believe in hunting something that didn’t get a sporting chance, and she was standing right in front of him and looking him clear in the eye.

Probably an escaped pet, thinking on it, or a released one, considering that he’d never met such a bold lynx. They were known for being skittish, fleeing at just the thought of humans, but here this one was, having even stood for a photograph.

“Now, you’re not gonna be able to eat all that,” Hamish hummed, patting his stump, and the lynx eyed him - where was he going with that? “What if I took the Tyrant,” he nodded at the pike as if the lynx could understand him, “and give you all the fish I can catch today?”

The lynx stared at him for a long moment, green eyes darting from him, to the Tyrant, to the lake, to the boat, then back to him, before she stood and backed away from the pike. Hamish cackled, hurrying forward to scoop the massive thing up by the tail before she could change her mind, taking it inside and slinging it down on his table to mount later in the day before hurrying outside, nearly tripping over the lynx who, on silent paws, had followed to stand in the doorway.

He swung the boat out in a hurry after giving Buell his breakfast, the stallion having an utter fit when he realized he wasn’t going to be groomed that day, But the lynx was ghosting his heels, and he didn’t want to risk her trying to break into the house and recollect if she changed her mind or decided he was taking too long, thought he might not keep his side of the deal.

  
  


Hamish hadn’t expected for her to jump into the boat, he had to admit. But she did, putting those absolutely _massive_ paws up on the hull like some enthusiastic boat dog, looking around eager as any, So he could only hope she wouldn’t start panicking as he pushed off from the pier, aiming for the middle of the lake where the best fishing would be.

  
  


He had no reason to worry, because the lynx clearly had the time of her life. She hopped around, swatting fish into the boat, hissed and bared her teeth, batted at the water and pounced on the fish that he threw at the bottom of the boat once he’d reeled them in. More than once he laughed so hard he wheezed as she fell in, spluttering and growling as she clambered back into the boat, somehow still managing to bring in a fish - though only ever ones as big as her tiny little tuft of a tail.

By the time they docked, they were swimming in fish. She’d ate herself near to sick, her stomach bloated, and he offered to store them for her in his cold-room - a basement built into the rock beneath his house, kept cold by the cold stones and the air that circulated and, seeing as she hadn’t ‘argued’ in any way he’d done so, leaving her to drag herself into the trees, staggering and feeling awful sorry for herself as her stomach churned.

  
  


Evan, of course, held him to his word, and was there before sun-up, sitting on his porch when he walked outside, cleaning her paws and looking none the worse for wear.


End file.
